


Only Brave In The Moonlight: Five Kanera Kinktober Stories

by aurelie_saintjuste



Category: Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angry Sex, Being Walked In On, Cunnilingus, F/M, Kanan Jarrus - Freeform, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sleepy Sex, Slow & Soft, Still Have No Idea What A Plot Is, Teasing, This Is Just STRAIGHT Pornography At This Point, Walking In On Someone, fighting to fucking, fucking against a wall, hera syndulla - Freeform, kanera - Freeform, post-mission sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurelie_saintjuste/pseuds/aurelie_saintjuste
Summary: Please enjoy five completely shameless Kinktober 2020 prompt-fills involving our favorite Pilot and arguably the galaxy's worst kept secret Jedi. These prompts are all set early in Hera and Kanan's relationship, in the post-A New Dawn, pre-Star Wars Rebels era.Tags will update as new prompts are posted.  These prompts are all independent of one another, and all are explicit.  It's what we deserve for surviving 2020.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 22
Kudos: 72





	1. Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Fill: Masturbation/Mutual Masturbation
> 
> A faulty door panel helps Kanan unintentionally learn about one of Hera's most reliable post-mission relaxation rituals.

In the grand scheme of things, it is one of the best showers Kanan had enjoyed in… well, in awhile. 

He is hot and sweaty and pretty sure that his coat earned a new singe mark as a souvenir of a mission gone belly-up. A mission that he absolutely would _not_ have considered, had a certain set of bright green eyes not met his, a certain pair of lekku bouncing in excitement at the prospect of kriffing up some Imperial nonsense that Kanan was decidedly _not_ interested in learning the details of.

He would insist that he hated how tightly Hera Syndulla had him twisted around her slender, flight-gloved fingers, but the reality is, Kanan is happy to be strung along. Singe-marked coat and sweaty, dangerous, stupid missions be damned.

… and the _Ghost_ has an amazing water reclamation system and so, so much hot water.

Kanan does the gentlemanly thing, of course - if such standards were upheld in Hera’s freighter, he isn’t really sure - and offers her the ‘fresher first once they are safely out of danger of any overzealous TIE. Hera shakes her head, her jaw set and the tension of a narrow escape still etched in her lithe frame and stiff lekku. 

“You go ahead - I’m getting us out of here,” she says, but she is distracted, already deep in the calculations for their jump to lightspeed. “Besides, I still have to make a report.” 

He doesn’t press the matter further. Kanan prefers to dance along the fringes of whatever Definitely-Not-A-Rebellion matters his captain is definitely not involved in, and often gives her wide berth in whatever matters she needs to attend to that do not explicitly require his help. It was practically his only stipulation before coming aboard her ship and one he is grateful that Hera respects - the fewer specifics he knows, the happier he is.

And so Kanan steps gratefully into the spray of hot water in the narrow shower stall in the tiny ‘fresher. He won’t linger - though the _Ghost_ is well equipped, he wants to be sure Hera has ample opportunity to decompress - but even just a few moments of the water sluicing away the dirt and grime of their adventure and the warmth permeating his muscles makes the day’s events almost worth it. 

He cards his fingers through his hair to clear the neutral-smelling suds, rinsing himself off before killing the spray. A quick towel dry and a clean pair of basics later and Kanan is ready to collapse into a heap on his bunk, unless his captain has other plans. 

But first --

“‘Fresher’s all yours Hera,” He calls towards the open cockpit hatch, towel draped across his shoulders and his wet hair dripping into it. “Hera?” 

He’s met with a series of whomp-wahmps that sounds both insulting and vaguely threatening, but definitely loosely translate to, _“She’s not here meatsack, put on some pants.”_

Kanan rolls his eyes and pads down the narrow hallway. He’s not sure if she’s mid-report and he certainly doesn’t want to be a part of any of _that_ , but a quick courtesy rap on her cabin door seems reasonable. He raises his knuckles to do just that when the hatch hisses open unexpectedly in response. 

  
“Hey, uh… sorry, your door just -- anyway, I wanted to let you know the ‘fresher is…” 

Kanan is a man rarely lost for words. The more creative the insult or witty the retort, the better. He can curse in six languages and has awful pickup lines for at least another four, and yet Kanan Jarrus stands, leaden feet rooted to the durasteel floor, and the most eloquent he can come up with is: 

“ _Kriff_.” 

Hera is slouched low among the cushions of a very old looking, intricately carved wooden chair, a relic from her homeworld if he had to guess. Her lekku are tossed over the backrest, tips curling just slightly, her head tilted back and expression fully relaxed and slack with pleasure. She has one naked leg slung over an armrest, bent at the knee, the heel of the other digs into the unyielding floor of her cabin. One of those talented pilot’s hands has slithered up and under the soft, loose white tank top she wears under her flight suit, the only stitch of clothing separating her from full nudity. 

And her long, beautiful fingers - fingers he’s admired both as they’ve danced across the console of the _Ghost_ or wrapped around his own cock - are now bringing herself the same pleasure they’ve so often offered him.

That’s when his brain goes into absolute crisis management mode because the scene unfolding in front of him is definitely not one his eyes are meant to see, no matter how many times his traitorous subconscious may have tried to conjure up exactly this image, much to his own embarrassment. 

Kanan is already mentally packing his few belongings in preparation to be thrown off her ship. Possibly into a hyperspace lane. That airlock has potential.

“Kanan,” she acknowledges him in a voice that is both surprised and… well, _not yelling_ , though her fingers stop moving both at the apex of her thighs and the stiff nipple visible through her thin shirt. 

His name in her mouth - especially in this debauched, this hyper-sexual context - makes Kanan swallow hard. He closes his eyes and draws on his still-temperamental connection to the Force to keep his body in check, begging the blood that has clearly evacuated his brain to _not rush to his cock, please, do not make this worse._

He opens his mouth to say something - anything - but the words die on his lips and instead he settles for another hard swallow of air.

_Kriffing kriff of a kriff_ _say anything_ _you absolute idiot._

“Ah… yeah, I… Hera I am so sorry I’m just gonna -- yeah, the shower is yours when you want it just let me know if you need hel- I mean… not help… anything… I’m… I’m _so_ sorry, I’mjustgonnagotomycabin.”

In her defense, Hera doesn’t laugh at him, despite the fact that Kanan is positive that he’s seen teenage boys play it cooler than he is right now. And she hasn’t thrown anything at him or yelled at him, which is both a relief and very, very confusing. Instead, she raises her head and her bright, heavily-lidded eyes lock onto his.

“Could you close the hatch?” she asks, but she doesn’t make any indication which side of it she would prefer him on. 

_If she doesn’t say anything,_ the reasonable side of his barely-functioning brain screams at him, _then she wants you on the_ other _side._

“Right! _Hatch_. Uh, I’ll just be across the ha--” 

“Kanan,” she says evenly, and the richness of her voice shoots straight through him. So much for that blood not rushing to his cock.

“I’m so sorr--” 

“Kanan.” 

“ _Hera_?” 

“Close. The hatch.” 

Kanan takes a deep breath. “Okay.” And he slaps a palm against the control panel to do just that.

“Now. Sit down.” 

Miraculously, his knees bend, and it's only when his back meets the cool durasteel of the wall does he realize how flushed his own naked skin must be. Kanan looses the breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding and pulls his knees up to his chest. It seems silly, at this juncture, to be embarrassed at the hard line of his erection clearly visible through his black basics, but the warmth blossoming across his cheeks and down his throat clearly says otherwise.

Hera, for her part, has the audacity to let a small laugh pass her parted lips. Her fingertips skate the inside of her thigh before stopping just short of her core. 

“Would you mind if I continued?” she asks earnestly, and he can hear a slightly teasing lilt in her voice. 

Kanan swallows hard but shakes his head wondering when the punchline of this very sexy, very unexpected joke is going to land and she’s going to throw him out. “I can go if you --” 

Hera laughs again, “Kanan,” she says evenly, though her voice is thick with arousal. Her fingers inch closer towards the center of her pleasure, “There’s not much you haven’t already seen.” 

“This is a _little_ different, Hera,” he laughs huskily, but he is so hard it’s almost painful and the thought of finding a little relief of his own in his own bunk is becoming more distracting with every passing moment.

“Is it?” she asks, widening her stance just slightly and repositioning herself for her own comfort among the cushions of her chair. A low, satisfied hum vibrates in her throat as her fingers slowly resume their circling of her clitoris and Kanan feels his mouth go dry.

“Would it help if you joined me?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall weighing his options. Her logic is infallible, as it usually is - it _would_ help. Besides, how many times has he dragged his mouth across her warm, smooth skin? How often has she curled her fingers tight in his hair as he tasted her most secretive, her most responsive areas? How often has the sound of her gasping over the brink of her own orgasm caused him to do exactly the same?

How many times has he laid alone in his bunk - feeling her unmistakable glow in the web of the Force behind his closed eyelids - thinking, _dreaming_ of her just like this; open and carnal and putting her fullest trust with her most intimate moments _in him_.

Kanan’s hand slips under the waistband of his shorts, the relief of the tight fabric lifting from his aching erection causes him to heave an involuntary sigh. Here she is, open and honest and offering to share with him her most intimate rituals.

He can feel the heavy weight of her gaze from across the short distance of the room, her eyes dark with burning pleasure and lust. It takes all of Kanan’s focus to not crawl across the room and have her on her cabin floor, but that’s not what _this_ is about.

This is about trust - Hera has invited him into something different, more personal than their existing physical relationship, and Kanan is not about to take that for granted. Their lovemaking is shared, but this… this feels so personal and there’s a thrill of discovery that comes with learning more about Hera Syndulla. He lifts his hips to pull his basics down his hips, tossing them and the towel still hanging across his shoulders to the side. 

Hera watches him closely from her chair, her head cocked to one side and one lek falling over her shoulder. The corners of her mouth lift when his teal gaze locks on hers and when she licks her lips, Kanan can practically feel the wet swipe of her pink tongue on his cock as he takes himself in his hand, and on an exhale, sets a languid pace, willing himself to take it slow, to last. 

He sets a pace on himself that compliments the circling and twisting of her fingers, imagining her fingers curled around his cock instead of his own, and any self-consciousness Kanan felt moments earlier melts into waves of pleasure and wonder as he commits to memory every one of Hera’s shifts and squirms under her own ministrations, each little sigh of contentment that escapes her lips. 

He watches as her eyes flutter closed and her breath hitches when her fingers dip lower into her sex, her arousal coating her green skin and slicking her clit, her circling resuming at a quicker, more insistent pace. The fingers of her free hand slide up her body to cup her full breast, her darkened nipples visible through the thin fabric of her tank top. They continue to rise to circle the tapered tip of the lek that has fallen over her shoulder, and Kanan wishes he could catch the groan that escapes her lips with his mouth.

Instead, his fist pumps faster around the velvety skin of his shaft, the muscles of his stomach starting to clench as the warmth and tightness in his groin starts to turn to an ache. Kanan squeezes his eyes shut, but the image of his beautiful companion creating her own pleasure is seared into his eyelids. 

“Kanan,” Hera hums, and his heart clenches in his chest as he dares to imagine that his name might pass her full lips when she does this and he’s _not_ in the room. “Kanan, _look at me_.” 

As in every endeavour, he can’t help but follow her orders and he opens his eyes, his desire darkened, teal gaze meets hers. She’s plunged two fingers into herself, her thumb rolling her swollen pearl and all he wants to do is be the one who pushes her over the edge. 

He passes his thumb over the bead of precome that has gathered at his tip, he can feel his own orgasm threatening to take him. His fingers curl tighter around himself as his pace starts to falter and all it takes for him to fall is hearing her shuddery cry from across the room. 

It takes him a moment for his breath to steady and the room to right itself. Milky white stripes of his release paint his stomach and fingers, and he absently passes his tongue over his hand to clean himself up before realizing his towel is still beside him. He swipes it quickly across his abdomen before crawling the distance between him and Hera’s chair, her legs still spread, her chest rising and falling as she too regains control, and her slick fingers tracing circles in her thigh as she comes down from her own orgasm.

He fills the space between her legs on his knees, and pulls her mouth to meet his as his hands cradle her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones as she melts into his kiss. Her arms fold gently around his neck, and he wants to say something, to describe to her what the trust she has put in him _means_ , how she’s changed him, maybe even _saved_ him, but all he can muster is the insistent press of his lips against hers.

It’s Hera who pulls back to break the kiss. She presses her forehead to his, a satisfied smile playing at her lips.

“This wasn’t exactly how I intended to end this evening,” she admits.

“Sorry to derail your plans,” he says, gratified to see that his voice hasn’t completely quit on him, even if it comes out rougher than he expected. “I promise it wasn’t intentional. I would never --” 

“I know.” 

“You need to have that door control checked out.” 

“Looks like you know what you’re doing next shift,” she teases, and rakes her fingers through his still damp, loose hair.

“Anything for the Captain.” 

She laughs lightly, but steadies her gaze on his, a look that Kanan recognizes as serious, “Kanan, I’m not one to… shall we say… put on a show,” she starts, “Sometimes after a job… well… things get a little tense.” She shrugs and smiles, “But if there’s anyone I can rely on to help me relax, it’s you. And… we both deserved to relax.”

Kanan responds with a warm kiss pressed just under her earcone, at the hinge of her jaw. Hera leans slightly into it, her fingers scratching into his scalp. “Thank you for entrusting me with that.” 

“I trust you with everything, Kanan Jarrus.”


	2. Twenty-Five Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: Oral Sex/Semi-Public Sex
> 
> Hera is impatient, Kanan has a plan.

Hard to imagine that the reformed alcoholic drifter would be _such_ a bad influence. 

The surly Rodian managing the fueling station said he was short-handed, maybe twenty to twenty five minutes before someone could refuel her ship. Which was _kriffing stupid_ if you asked her, becuase Hera Syndulla was fully capable of refueling her own ship, thank you very much, but in the spirit of keeping a low profile and begrudgingly playing by the rules, she would wait the twenty to twenty-five minutes.

She would also, apparently, drum her fingers anxiously on the _Ghost_ ’s console the entire time.

“Do you ever take a break?” Kanan asks, clearly having had enough of the _drum drum drum_ of her fingers, and he reaches across the dash to curl his fingers around hers, forcing them to still. 

“I’m just saying, we could have been out of here by now,” she huffs, though Hera doesn’t pull her fingers from his. She’s learned how much she enjoys how warm Kanan always is - whether it's the casual, easy twine of his fingers laced with hers, his warm palm pressed to hers even through their respective gloves, or the more intimate heat of his body wrapped around hers in whoever’s bunk they landed in, his chest flush against her back. 

Kanan is always warm, and she is delighted to harbor this secret information, learned firsthand.

But that’s neither here nor there, not when they’re stuck in refueling hell waiting for the understaffed crew to get to the _Ghost_.

“It’s only a few minutes, Hera, I’m sure there’s something productive you could do to fill the time,” he shrugs, “Besides, what’s the rush? We don’t have anywhere to be.”

She gently pulls her hand from his and crosses her arms across her chest defiantly, “There’s no rush, that’s not the point - if they’d just let me -” 

A smile plays at his lips, and there’s a dangerous glint in those spectacular teal eyes, one that Hera’s body recognizes, and suddenly Kanan is warming her in a different way. 

“What if I distract you for twenty-five minutes. It’s really not _that_ long.” 

“ _Absolutely not_ , Kanan! It could be our turn at any point and… I mean… they’re _right there_ ,” and her brain is proud of her for gesturing wildly at the viewport and being reasonable, but her heart is racing at the possibility of what Kanan could accomplish in twenty-five minutes. 

“You really think they can see this high up?” Kanan asks with a raised eyebrow that has a flush warming her cheeks. He pushes himself out of his seat, and in a few short steps he’s in her personal space. He swivels her chair towards where he’s standing between them, bracing his hands on either side of the seatback and trapping her between his strong arms. He dips his mouth close to hers, and Hera mentally tries to steel herself against the warmth of his lips against hers, but they never land.

“Or,” he whispers, and Hera can feel his breath brush against the corner of her mouth as he brings his lips up, close to her earcone’s protective covering. “You could drum your fingers against that console hard enough to have to recalibrate the whole thing and drive me crazy in the process.” 

Hera snorts a laugh and pushes him away. Kanan grins lopsidedly and shrugs, “Twenty-three minutes, Captain.”

“Tell that to the Rodian.” 

“I’m just saying I can help you relax.” He insists.

In the weeks after Gorse, when Kanan had finally given up on his playboy drifter act and started talking in lines that weren’t picked up from behind the bar of his seedy cantina gig, Hera started to see a different man emerge, a far more authentic man. There was still so much about him that she didn’t understand, history that Kanan wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone. But she found herself grateful to be in a place with Kanan where there was possibility to learn more, and she learned to appreciate each thoughtful gesture, each honest conversation, each shared joke and quiet moment with him.

She is still learning to appreciate his more reckless plans. But her undeniable appreciation of his libido, and, _yes, fine_ , his ability to help her _relax_ , is currently winning the war against her resolve. Her curiosity is piqued by the recklessness of letting him act on whatever he thought he could do in twenty-five minutes.

Twenty-two, now.

Hera slips her fingers into the loops of his worn leather belt and pulls him back to her, lifting her gaze to meet his from her seat. “What would you do if I said yes?” she asks, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Well,” Kanan starts, and allows himself to be pulled towards her, standing in the space between her knees. Hera wraps her legs around his loosely, crossing her ankles behind his. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, challenging him to impress her.

“It will take me at least ten minutes to free you from all that webbing,” he grins and tugs at the white ejection harness hanging down her legs, “Unless you want to time me.”

“Ppft, ten minutes? Amateur.” 

“Oh yeah?” and he raises his eyebrows skeptically. “Prove me wrong.” 

_You’re an idiot, Hera Syndulla_ , her brain groans. She cheerfully and resolutely ignores her common sense while her fingers make quick work of her belt, and she shoves the webbing to the deck. 

“Will it take you _another_ ten minutes to free three buttons?” Hera challenges, slipping her fingers under the buttons that free the orange pants of her flight suit from her leather breastplate. 

“Ah, why take that bet, Captain Syndulla, when you’re doing all the work for me?” 

Hera rolls her eyes. “You still haven’t answered my question - what,” and she pops the top button, “will,” and the left, “you do?” and the last button frees, the top of the flight suit falling forward, as she leans back in her chair, her ankles still loosely crossed behind his.

Kanan smiles that dangerous smile, but Hera’s eyes don’t leave his, until he leans forward to press his mouth against hers. Hera tugs at her gloves, freeing her hands and tossing them aside with the webbing. This is dangerous, but somehow the thrill urges her all the more forward, and she cradles his face in her hands as she yields her mouth to his, the gentle swipe of his tongue brushing against hers, their kiss deepening and his warmth blossoming in her chest.

Hera hasn’t learned everything about Kanan, but she has learned plenty of little things - he likes his coffee black and an apparent lack of fresh fruit on Gorse leaves him constantly craving it, and right now, his mouth tastes of both. Her tongue swipes against his before tracing his full bottom lip, catching it in a light nip. 

“You know,” he says after pulling back just slightly, his cheeks starting to warm and his gaze beginning to darken. “They definitely can’t see you from the waist down.” 

His fingers are already skating the waistband of her loose pants, and Hera bites her lower lip, her eyes darting from the viewport back to his eyes. Annoyingly, he has a point. She offers a little nod before Kanan sinks to his knees, loosening the waistband and tugging it down her slender legs. 

He tugs her boots off and with a _thunk_ , _thunk_ , tosses them aside. A quick pull and her flight suit follows. She’s left slouched low in her pilot’s chair in her black shorts, appraising him where he sits between her knees, his palms flat on her thighs. Hera reaches her hand to trail her fingers across his cheek, cupping his face in her palm as his eyes close. He leans into her touch and in that moment - no banter, no teasing, no challenges - Hera thinks he’s the most handsome man she’s ever seen. 

A slight turn of his head and his warm lips are on her inner thigh, his hands slowly skimming up towards her hips. His fingers hook into the waistband of her basics, and she throws a quick glance back to the viewport, she _knows_ the scant crew can’t see the man between her knees but the thought of it makes her cheeks flush deeper. Hera lifts her hips minutely to allow Kanan to tug the last garment down her legs and he tosses them aside. 

“Eighteen minutes,” Hera warns, but there’s no weight in her threat. Kanan hums in acknowledgement and presses her knees apart, spreading her stance wider. 

His mouth and fingers trail gently up her inner thighs, and Hera’s breath catches as his thumb brushes gently against her core. She repositions herself in her seat, offering more of herself to him, but Kanan is, despite her weak enforcement of a time restriction, taking his time, licking, sucking and kissing his way up her thigh. 

With an excruciatingly slow circle of his thumb, Hera groans. She slides the fingers of one hand into his hair, scraping at his scalp and urging him up to where she wants his mouth the most. She’s met with a low laugh, one she can feel against her skin more than she can hear.

“Patience,” he growls, but his thumb dips lower, dragging some of the slickness gathering at her entrance up to the swelling bundle of nerves. 

“S-seventeen,” she reminds him. At least she thinks it's seventeen.

“Are you seriously going to count me down?” he asks, raising his face to her with an incredulous look. As if to spite her, he drops his mouth to the smooth skin above her sex, closer to where she wants him, but still not quite there.

“Shut up, Kanan.” 

“So _rude_ ,” he grumbles, but his thumb has stopped circling, and instead his index finger is teasing at her entrance. Hera shivers, and wishes he’d _get on with it_ , her patience evidently in short supply today. 

The reality is, Hera loves his languid, leisurely, _torturing_ pace. She has been the recipient of this type of attention before - she was a curious teenager on Ryloth, and life wasn’t easy. Like many of her friends, she occasionally sought the physical escape and release with a boyfriend or girlfriend here or there. There were clumsy make out sessions and explorations of one another that ended too quickly and they were fine and fun, but inevitably, the encounters were unsatisfying. Kanan knows how to drag out her pleasure, and while it left her frustrated in the moment, the payoff… 

She can already feel her toes curl. 

He knows how to read her body in ways she isn’t even sure she can understand. 

Hera lifts her hips from the seat, urging his fingers on. The warm palm of his free hand presses her back down into her seat, and she’s rewarded with the pressure of not one, but two of his long fingers sliding into her, curling and twisting and shallowly thrusting. 

Her jaw drops slightly, an unintelligible noise of satisfaction escapes her lips and escalates to a full moan when he finally brings his mouth down to swirl his tongue across her clitoris.

Hera’s hand seeks purchase in his hair and her fingers curl into the ponytail at the base of his neck. Kanan is gently sucking and nipping at the ultra-sensitive skin of her cunt and she wants more. She ventures a glance down at him, not much of a view past the rapidly quickening rise and fall of her own chest behind this stifling breastplate, save for his dark hair twisted tightly in her fist and the working of his jaw as he moves his tongue and teeth against her. 

It’s risky, but Hera raises one leg to drape over his shoulder, and Kanan encourages her by tugging the other up to match. The rasp of his sweater against her prickling skin and the bite of the cool metal of his pauldron against her outer thigh sear through her as Kanan takes advantage of the better angle at which to enthusiastically continue to lick and suck at her flesh.

He slips his fingers free from her, slick with her arousal. He tentatively raises his hand to lips, and it only takes a moment for Hera to understand - he’s not in a position where he can easily get himself off and so she takes his fingers in her mouth, sucking and licking at them, a promise of what’s to come once they’re freed from this blasted fueling station. He never expects her to return a favor, and yet Hera already gleefully anticipates the feel of him in her hands and the taste of him in her mouth.

Kanan’s lips close again around her clitoris, the thumb of his free hand pressing into her, and Hera’s breath is starting to come harder, its pattern more irregular. She doesn’t care about the Rodian, the fueling, whose kriffing turn it is at the pump. She’s so close to her orgasm that her only need - the need she can feel down to her cells - is to come under the Kanan Jarrus’ infuriatingly talented mouth.

“Kanan,” she warns, and he pulls his fingers from her mouth to press her flat against the chair once again. Her hips desperately want to press up off her seat, but he holds her still. She’s positive that she’s liberated strands of hair from his head with the tight grip she has against him, and she distantly hopes he can still breathe buried so deep between her thighs, but he hasn’t stopped, and she’s so close, so... so, close…

Her heels dig into his back, her toes curled tightly and all it takes is one last flick of his tongue and she erupts with a cry, waves of pleasure warm her tense muscles, leaving a tingly, satisfied feeling in their wake. Kanan keeps his mouth pressed to her, his fingers still as she rides out her orgasm, pulling away only when her shudders come to a stop. 

The comm chirps as Hera’s chest heaves - the _Ghost_ is next to be refuelled. 

“Not bad for timing,” Kanan says smugly but then smiles at her from his spot between her legs. She untangles herself from him, her legs feel like jelly as her feet hit the cool grating of the deck. Hera leans forward to hold his face between her palms again and kisses him with all the strength she can muster, her release on his lips and chin. 

When she pulls away, Kanan is breathless and she is gratified. That’s how he makes her feel every day they’re together, every meal that they share, every nightmare they comfort one another through, every recklessly timed sexual encounter. He’s somehow made her life more chaotic, and yet so much more meaningful. He leaves her breathless. 

“Don’t brag, Kanan,” she chides him, but she’s smiling as she presses her forehead to his. 

“All I’m saying is I delivered on my promise - you were distracted, you’re relaxed, and they didn’t see a thing.” he grins that cursed lopsided grin and pulls away just enough to grope the deck for her basics, “Though you’ll probably want these before the refueling crew comes by.” 

“One day, Kanan Jarrus,” she warns, reaching for all the authority she can while naked from the waist down. She snatches her shorts from him and shimmies them up her legs, “I will not think twice about throwing you out the airlock.”

“Your droid is counting on it.”

  
  



	3. Gray Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: Slow & Soft, Sleepy Sex
> 
> Hera feels privileged to so intimately know someone like him.

Hera is halfway between consciousness and sleep when she feels the human curled around her shift and pull her closer.

She hazily remembers the evening before, the memory blurry with the distraction of how warm she is, how comfortable she is and how genuinely content she is sharing the narrow bunk with the man at her back. A successful milk run of a mission, the credits already pending in her account. A restock of fresh groceries and fuel, enough for them to comfortably lie low while Hera waits for either another run or directive from her contacts, whichever arrives first. An evening spent decadently, a small celebration of a job well done, the evidence of which is still sticky between her thighs and tender where his mouth sucked a little too hard at her skin. 

Hera smiles sleepily, and nestles back against the warm expanse of his chest. His fingers curl a little more protectively into the soft skin at her stomach. She twines her long fingers with his, and as her eyes flutter closed to capture a little more sleep, she feels the gentle press of his lips at her shoulder, and shivers at the tickle of his beard at her skin.

Kanan is awake.

His fingers sweep across her stomach, untwining from hers before trailing with a featherlight touch up her side. A shuddery sigh escapes Hera’s lips, and she arches her spine gracefully against his touch. His fingers skate back down to her hip, curling into her flesh as her arched back presses her ass firmly against his - is it morning, really? _Already_? - erection. 

Memories of the evening before play back in her mind like an explicit holo and manifest themselves into a warm coil in her stomach. Things could go either way for her at this point - she would be happy to nestle against him and fall back into her deep, comfortable sleep and enjoy the memory in her dreams, or… well…

It seems as if Kanan has made up his mind. 

With a featherlight touch, Kanan’s fingertips have traveled back up the length of her, circling the rapidly stiffening peak of her breast. She slips her arm behind her, threading her fingers in his loose hair in an attempt to ground herself from writhing harder against his body as he concentrates his circling efforts on the sensitive tip of her nipple. 

Hera feels the low rumble of his laughter with her back flush against his chest before she hears it as her fist involuntarily tightens around the strands of his hair. With another press of his warm mouth against her naked shoulder, he drags his hand down the center of her body and another shiver rips through her. 

Kanan carefully nudges his knee between her thighs as his fingers continue to travel lower, dangerously close to the smooth folds of her sex. Hera’s lips part around a sound that is halfway between a sigh and a soft, sleepy moan.

Slowly, methodically, Kanan’s fingers stroke through the wetness at her core, and Hera gasps and tosses her head against his shoulder. She has mapped the strong features of his face so many times that she can feel the easy, familiar - and slightly smug - smile on his lips as he drops more warm kisses along her skin, freeing the arm that she’s resting on to wrap her even closer. 

Hera arches against him again, and she’s sure she hears a low groan escape his lips as she presses more firmly against his cock. His fingers don’t stop their languid stroking, and it takes more self control than she’s aware she had to not grind against his knee slotted between her thighs. The coil of warmth is building in her belly, and if this keeps up, she’s not sure how much longer she can last in his hands. 

She calls on that fleeting self control to wrap her fingers around his wrist, stilling his hand as his fingers dip into her. He presses into her shallowly, gently, hesitantly - as if he’s aware that the sensation is building to a boiling point in her half-asleep state. She cants her hips back against his cock again, and his groan is more pronounced now. After a pause, he pulls his hand away and seems to have a better idea of how they should both wake up. 

It doesn’t take much rearranging of their bodies, and she can feel the movement at the small of her back as he takes himself in his fist, pumping once… twice… 

Hera does her best not to writhe against him as she closes her eyes and imagines Kanan seeking his own pleasure. He doesn’t have to go at it alone for long, though - he’s pulling her back against him, his cock lined up at her entrance and a cautious roll of her hips back has him slowly inching into her warmth. 

Kanan buries his face in the space between her shoulder and neck, pulling her flush against his body again. He presses into her, and Hera looses a low hiss as he fully seats inside of her, stretching and filling her. They lay together, still and content, before Kanan moves his hips against her, setting a slow and easy pace. 

He brushes his lips across the top of her shoulder, and his grip tightens at her hip as Hera snakes her top leg around his for better leverage. His rhythm remains achingly slow, but allows her to feel his movements inside her acutely. It’s not enough on its own for her to find her peak, but there’s a comfort, a familiarity and an intimacy in this sleepy, early morning union that is very different from the events the night prior. Kanan is in no rush and neither is she - Hera could be content to be held against this man till the whole Rebellion passes.

But then his mouth is against her jaw, his tongue tracing its hinge up to the sensitive skin just below her earcone and his easy pace falters as he tries to hit a spot inside her deeper, faster. It catches Hera by surprise and she gasps, freeing her loose grip on his hair to slide down her own body, her fingers skimming his at her hip before they find the sensitive nerves at her core.

Kanan groans against her skin, his thrusts becoming more staccato and deeper inside of her. Between the insistent circling of her own fingers and the thought of Kanan unravelling behind her, Hera finds her release, her head tossed back against his shoulder and her body tense against his. Kanan takes the opportunity to kiss and suck at her bared throat as he pushes into her once… twice… three times before he too succumbs to his orgasm, a low cry escaping his lips against her skin. 

Hera stills her breath to take advantage of a small joy she’s found in the post-coital moments she’s spent with Kanan: at her back, she can feel his chest rising and falling as his breathing returns to normal, but if she concentrates just a little harder, she can feel his heart thrumming in his chest against her. There’s still so much Hera does not understand about the Jedi and the Force, but she knows that the blood coursing through Kanan’s veins is special, that he has some enhancement in his biology different from most other species in the galaxy. In these quiet, steadying moments, Hera likes to imagine that Force-tinged blood coursing through his veins, his Force-enhanced heartbeat pounding in him. And she feels privileged to be in such proximity and to so intimately know someone like him.

Kanan frees himself from her, and Hera untangles her leg from his before turning in the circle of his arms to face him. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed with pleasure and sleepiness. She raises one hand to cup his face, her thumb gently sweeping at his cheekbone. They really should start their day - at the very least she should check for missed transmissions from any of her contacts and start performing her routine checks around the ship. 

Somehow that all feels so distant, and so inconsequential.

Instead, Hera’s lips brush gently at his, and he wraps his arms just a little tighter around her. Hera can tell he’s slipping back into sleep, and she wants nothing more than to join him there.

Fifteen more minutes won’t hurt their schedule. Everything beyond her cabin hatch can wait just a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is 200% for SpecSeven who seems to love it best of all. <3 
> 
> This one also marks the very first fic I've ever written without dialogue or banter which was a challenge that I'm still somewhat self-conscious over tackling. I think with these two, who know each other so well, sometimes conversation really isn't necessary.


	4. Give and Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: Against A Wall/Angry (Fight) Sex
> 
> Hera struggles adapting to taking on missions with a partner and Kanan's not willing to lose anything.

_Well_ , Hera thinks blithely between the pounding thrum of her own pulse drumming in her earcones, _this was a karking disaster._

She looks over her shoulder as she rounds the corner into a dimly lit, narrow alley. Good. Kanan has managed to keep up with her, his blaster still poised to take out any of their pursuing bucketheads. She can’t help but notice he’s breathing a little harder, a little heavier, and she drags her gaze to the burnmark singeing the corner of his chest armor and shoulder pauldron.

It does not stop her from grabbing a fistful of his tunic when he rounds the corner into the alley behind her, and shoving him into a shadow-darkened corner of the alley wall.

“What the _kriffing hell_ was that, Jarrus?” she demands, fury blurring the edges of her field of vision. “That was absolutely _not_ what we discussed.”

Kanan barks out a bitter laugh between lungfuls of air. “ _Not what we discussed_ ? In case you didn’t notice, _Captain_ , there were at least a dozen Imps with their blasters aimed at you. I saved your life. Sorry for not _discussing_ it.”

“We had a _plan_ ,” she snarls.

“And that _plan_ went out the window when _your_ intel was wrong.”

Hera narrows her eyes at him but releases the fistful of his shirt. He wasn’t _entirely_ wrong - Fulcrum’s estimation of Imperial presence was far from what actually met them, and the informant Hera was meant to rendezvous with was nowhere to be found. Hera had spent hours before the mission poring over intel, maps and facility blueprints and briefing Kanan on exit strategies should things go awry. Awry they had gone, and all of her meticulous planning had, to use his words, _went out the window_ at the appearance of a dozen gleaming white helmets.

Fulcrum’s intel was getting spottier and spottier, and tonight, had it not been for Kanan’s extraordinary awareness and speed, it could have cost them both their lives. 

Still, the mission - the valuable fleet information she was supposed to receive from her missing contact - was a complete failure. That failure burns through her veins, and, paired with the adrenaline of the ensuing firefight, has Hera seeing red.

She takes a steadying breath, but her glare stays steady on Kanan’s equally furious face.

“Chopper,” she demands into her comm, “We need a pickup at my coordinates. Now.”

Her cantankerous astromech whumps in acknowledgement, and Hera leans back against the alley wall with a heavy sigh.

“So that’s it, huh? No thank you? No ‘sorry we almost died, Kanan’?” He asks, his fingers still trained on the trigger of his blaster. His eyes never stop scanning their surroundings and despite his anger, Hera can’t help but notice that he’s picked himself up from against the wall, gingerly rolling his shoulder, and has put himself between her and the dimly lit entrance of the alley.

“Shut up, Kanan,” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose, willing Chopper and the _Ghost_ to appear. 

“No, _Captain Syndulla_. This,” he presses, and gestures at their current situation with his blaster, “was a mess. You should have listened to me when I said this was a bad idea - the minute we saw that first buckethead, we should have backed off, reorganized. But no! Your _sources_ said this was right. ‘Just one trooper, Kanan!’ It’s never _just_ one trooper, Hera!”

“Shut _up_ , Kanan.”

“Then stop running into your own death, Hera! No information is worth you dying over!” 

“It wouldn’t be running into my own death if you would just follow orders, just once!” she snaps.

“Follow orders? What orders? You had no idea what you wer--” 

Kanan’s lecture is cut short at the sound of blaster fire at the mouth of the alley. Hera whips her head towards the sound so fast her lekku toss over her shoulders, and her hand flies to the holster at her boot. Kanan takes aim at the source of blasts, and Hera’s blurrg is right behind him, her eyes desperately scanning for an escape in a closed off alley. Crates, maybe? Up to the roof? She’s seen Kanan close further distances with little effort - maybe he could -- 

She doesn’t have time to consider as the blaster bolts sear through the darkness. Hera bites her lower lip in a snarl as she squeezes the trigger, taking aim at their assailants, her shots mixed with Kanan’s against the five…? six…? troopers at the mouth of the alley. A sudden wash of light fills the narrow space as the familiar hum of the _Ghost_ ’s engines sound overhead. 

Hera’s comm chirps and Chopper’s furious whomps and whirs are barely audible through the exchange of blasters and Kanan’s cursing.

“I didn’t say anything about being on the rooftops, Chop!” she says tersely, taking careful aim at the bucketheads blocking their exit to the street. “We can’t get up that high without—“

“The roof?” Kanan asks between shots, his eyes flicking from his targets to the proximity of the _Ghost_.

Before she can respond or protest, the air is knocked out of Hera’s lungs as a strong arm slams into her stomach and closes around her waist. Kanan is dragging her in a superhuman leap from the ground to the top of a pile of precariously stacked crates, taking any shot he can get with his blaster still in his other hand’s tight grip. He dodges the red streaks of enemy blaster bolts with grace and ease and he pauses only briefly to assess the distance between the top of the crates and the rooftop, where Chopper has dropped the ramp to board the _Ghost_. 

“A little warning next time, Kanan?” she mutters, only half-intending for him to hear her irritated response as she tries to take aim and squeezes out a round of shots at their pursuers.

“Do you want to get out of here or do you want to stick around and see how this ends, because I’m going to go on the record and say it _won’t end well for us_ ,” Kanan growls. “Consider _this_ your warning, Captain.” 

Without waiting for her would-be snarky reply, his arm around her waist tightens to almost painful as he takes one last leap and hauls them up over the lip of the building. Kanan doesn’t pause to catch his breath or steady himself before all but throwing her onto the extended ramp. He fires a few more shots from the higher vantage point for good measure before leaping aboard the ramp behind her.

  
“Go, go, go, Chop.” Hera demands into her comm, and the ramp folds in on itself, sealing them into the quiet of the _Ghost_ ’s cargo hold. Her earcones are still ringing with the sounds of the firefight in the alley, the complete mess a mission replaying itself in her mind. Hera leans back against the cool durasteel wall of the cargo hold, her eyes screwed shut. She whips off her leather gloves and throws them to the floor, scrubbing her face with her hands trying to recalibrate around their failure and to control her temper before she lashes out at her partner. 

“We did the best we could, Hera.” Kanan tries to reason with her, but the combination of their failure and his inability to _let her lead_ a mission, _to listen_ to her orders still has Hera seething.

“Shut up, Kanan,” she says, for what seems like the hundredth time in the last few hours. 

There’s a tenuous silence interrupted only by the clatter of Kanan’s armor clanking to the floor just a little too hard beside where he sits. He’s angry too, she can feel it, and there’s a part of her that wants to agree - they did their best, they’ll do better next time - but she can’t get past the bitter taste of failure and the feeling that he went against her. 

Even if it was to _protect_ her.

“No, Hera,” he says, pushing himself to his feet and crowding into her personal space, his voice quiet and tight with anger. “No I won’t shut up. We kriffed this up tonight - your intel was bad which we could have bounced back from, but it was your unwillingness to adapt out there that really did us in. I did what I had to do to get us both out of there, and you didn’t make it any easier by insisting that we try to salvage any part of this fool’s errand.” 

“My ‘unwillingness to adapt’?” she laughs and jabs a finger into his shoulder. He winces and a pang of guilt cuts through her anger as she realizes she probably just hit him right where his pauldron and chestplate took a blast, “This was my mission and you didn’t listen to a single thing I asked!” 

“Because what you were asking was going to get us killed!” he shouts. “Your mission would have been a total failure if we’d gotten killed out there! Then what good would you be to this cause of yours?!” 

Hera opens her mouth to reply, but the words don’t come. Instead, she chews her bottom lip angrily as her mind wraps around the concept that he’s completely correct. Things were so much easier when it was _just_ her, but she can’t help but believe that if she had been alone out there tonight, she wouldn’t be back on the _Ghost_ now. She was thrilled that Kanan insisted on taking on this task with her, but she’s starting to realize that his desire to get involved was less to do with Fulcrum’s cause itself and more to do with keeping her alive.

Adapting to working with a partner was a lot harder than she had anticipated.

A lot harder still when it was someone she cared so much for.

Kanan looses the breath he’d been holding in an attempt to collect himself, his shoulders visibly releasing tension on his exhale. Hera can feel the weight of his blue-green gaze on her, and she swallows hard against the wave of guilt but allows her eyes to meet his. Adrenaline prickles at her still, and before she has the opportunity to protest (says her mind) or apologize (says her heart), Kanan has filled her personal space, his mouth crashing against hers as one arm loops around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Hera doesn’t want to leave the argument unfinished, but even as her palms flatten against his chest to push him back to make one last argument about his insubordination on the mission, her fingers curl into the knit of his tunic and her mouth opens against his. The thrill of survival, the adrenaline from their botched mission and near escape courses through her veins and the need to make her point ( _...what was that point, again?_ ) dissolves into the desire to completely give into her partner, whose free hand is already pulling at the hem of her fitted black tank.

Kanan’s teeth nip lightly at her lower lip before trailing hot, open mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck before bringing his mouth close to her earcone, dropping the hand holding her to him and instead skimming the back of his fingers along her cheek. Hera’s eyes flutter closed as she tilts her head to the side and into his hand, baring her throat for easier access or in peace offering. 

“I’m not willing to lose this,” he murmurs. 

“Kanan I’m not going anyw--” she sighs, and Kanan’s warm lips press into her neck as the fingers at the hand at the side of her face still at her lips. 

“ _Shut up, Hera._ ” he huffs against her skin, dragging the hem of her top up over her stomach. Hera shivers at the soft leather of his gloves and electricity of his bare fingertips against her prickling skin. She pulls herself away from the bulkhead long enough to help him free the fabric of her top over her head and allows herself to give in - just this _once_ \- to Kanan taking the lead, _to being right_.

Her Jedi pulls back, his darkened eyes roaming across the newly bared swaths of smooth green skin, the intoxicating view of Hera’s half-lidded eyes appraising him hungrily as her head tilts to the side, her lekku curling over her shoulders. His hands skim gently, _reverently_ over the swell of her breasts before flattening at her shoulders to push the straps of her bra down. She threads her arms out of them and Kanan expertly twists his fingers at her back to free the clasp there, the garment dropping to her side.

“I’m still mad at you,” she insists, and it’s true, but she’s finding she has to put more effort into being angry at him. She’s sure her anger doesn’t carry much weight half naked in the cargo hold of her ship.

“That’s fine. You can be mad at me all you want,” he agrees between the kisses he’s trailing down her throat and across her collarbone, the scrape of goatee cutting through her. He brings one hand to cup the fullness of her right breast, his thumb circling lightly at her nipple. “I probably deserve it for saving your life.” 

A little groan escapes Hera’s parted lips as his mouth moves lower, between the valley of her breasts. She snakes one leg around him, her left heel hitching at his knee to pull him closer, and Kanan seems all too happy to oblige, closing the space between them by ducking his head to capture her stiff nipple in his warm, wet mouth.

“That’s,” she gasps as her fingers twist into his hair, “That’s a better use of your mouth.” 

Kanan huffs a laugh and gently closes his teeth around the sensitive nerve endings, and Hera tosses her head against the bulkhead with a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan, arching gracefully against him. She’s dimly aware of the swell of his cock straining through his trousers where her body presses against his and her mind reels at the possibility that the chaos of their botched mission, their narrow escape, their fight could end in something so sweet. 

Hera frees her hands from his hair and instead slips them under his shirt, her fingers roaming the contours of his lean torso and the dusting of soft hair. She’s mapped his body enough times to navigate by memory the familiar dip of his hard muscle and each old scar, but she’s eager to see them for herself. In response, Kanan swirls his tongue one last time over the peak of her breast before freeing it, catching her mouth with his again as he brushes her small hands away with his large ones, pulling away from their kiss only long enough to free his tunic over his head, wincing slightly at the exertion of his bruised shoulder. 

Reality slices through the fog of desire when she takes in spectacular bruise blossoming at his right collarbone and shoulder, and her fingers tentatively dance over it, causing him to hiss through his teeth. Not a life threatening injury, but the fact that he’d been caught at all by enemy fire was one more reason he should have followed her directions from the get go -- 

_Or,_ her mind cuts in, _maybe he had a point about retreating when they should have._

Hera doesn’t have much time to wallow over his injury before he brings his mouth to hers again and murmurs softly against her mouth, “Don’t. It’ll be fine.” 

“Don’t tell me not to…” and she presses a kiss against his mouth trying to parse out the words to express the way she feels - the fact that he was right, the fact that she’s sorry he was injured for her mission, the fact that right now she wants to keep reality firmly outside of the _Ghost_ ’s walls. “... to _worry_ about that… or you… or…”  
  
“Hera?” Kanan asks against the corner of her mouth. 

“What?”

“Shut. Up.” 

She does, but largely due to Kanan’s tongue sliding against her own, one hand cupping her cheek to steady her against him, the other palming the length of her lek. A shudder rips through her at the intimacy of the touch, the electric sensation of his skin against hers and she wants him closer, more of him, more evidence of the fact that everything else may have gone to hell, but he’s here and they’re alive.

The potent combination of urgency and adrenaline simmering in her makes her hands shake as they fumble with his belt buckle. Everything is too warm, and she presses herself against the coolness of the cargo hold’s durasteel wall to steady herself as Kanan drops a hand to help her free the buckle and tear at the buttons at the placket of his trousers. He’s barely freed the last of the fastening before Hera’s nimble fingers work into the waistband of his basics, closing around the velvety skin of his erection and Kanan chuckles darkly against her cheek.

“In a hurry, are we?” But even as he teases her, he’s working at the buttons of her dark pants, the kind she wears on missions when she doesn’t want to stand out. 

Hera one-handedly shoves his basics down around his thighs, freeing his length before curling her fingers around him, pumping her fist shallowly at the base of his cock. “Let’s see if you can handle this set of orders, Kanan,” she says, her voice rich and deep as his hand follows her example and dips into her microfiber basics. She closes her eyes and catches her bottom lip between her teeth as his fingers slip through her folds, already wet with desire, and one slides inside her. 

“You’re going to fuck me against this wall, right now, no arguments, no banter just… just fuck me, Kanan.” 

Kanan grins and meets her for one last kiss before withdrawing from her entirely. Hera mourns the loss of his fingers between her legs only momentarily before realizing that he’s kicking off his boots, and shoving his trousers down his muscular legs and off to the side with his armor and tunic. Hera’s overstimulated mind is so taken by watching him strip in front of her that it takes her a full moment to realize she should be doing the same.

“Wouldn’t want to be subordinate, _Captain_ ,” he teases her, tossing his trousers and basics aside before standing at his full height, once again crowding her against the wall. Hera narrows her eyes at him, despite the fact that all her hands want to do is to roam the whole expanse of his naked skin. “But… you’ve been giving orders all night, and I have some ideas of my own.” 

His hands pull sharply at the waistband of her pants and it takes Hera a solid moment for her brain to register that she has to get her boots off to free her long legs from the offending garment. Kanan busies himself with nipping and sucking at the soft skin where her neck joins her shoulder but once she’s freed from basics, bottoms and boots, he wastes no time hoisting her up, and pressing her against the wall. Hera squeaks with surprise, but manages to wrap her legs around his waist and loop her arms around his neck. 

She may be frustrated with him, but at least there’s _this_. And this feels right.

“Call this repayment for saving your skin out there,” he says, pressing his forehead to hers, and dipping one hand between them to circle and plunge two fingers into her. Hera groans and buries her neck in his shoulder, her fingers curling tight into his neck and ponytail. The pent up adrenaline kicks in again, and Hera’s sure he must feel the same way - he’s always so reverent and attentive when he fucks her but something feels different now… more desperate and more primal as his fingers thrust into her, stretching her. 

“To prove to you I can take orders and I do listen, I will fuck you against this wall,” he growls, close to her earcone. “But you’re going to let me take the lead.” 

Hera shudders around him, and he frees his fingers from her, dragging them up the center of her body and to her face, forcing her to lift her gaze to his. He traces her lower lip with an index finger coated in her own arousal before pressing his mouth hungrily against hers. 

He drops his hands to cradle her ass, and Hera can tell, despite the distraction of his teeth and tongue crashing against hers, that he’s found the leverage and lineup to thrust into her. He wastes no time in doing so and all she can muster is a cry against his mouth as he drives into her, the fullness and sweetness of his cock replacing his two fingers. 

Her nails are digging into his shoulders now and she’s sure they’ll leave behind half moon shaped reminders of their encounter. Kanan presses her back firmly against the bulkhead as he thrusts into her over and over again, harder and more desperate than he’s ever done before. She screws her eyes shut and buries her face against the crook of his neck, her pants turning into low cries as he offers her this delicious reminder of how very alive they are. Her teeth are on edge and the fullness she feels is so much, and all she can respond with is a sharp bite against the skin of his shoulder. 

Kanan groans under her teeth and his pace falters, but recovers enough to hitch her a little higher, gravity pushing her down a little harder on his cock. 

“Kanan,” she groans into his skin, and his only response is another sharp drive into her. She feels every stroke more acutely than ever before, already nursing an ache between her legs and a tightness in her thighs that she will feel for days later and will flush at the memory. One of Kanan’s large, still gloved hands braces steadies him against the bulkhead, allowing him to pin her a little more tightly between the cool metal and his flushed skin. 

She could have lost him in that alley tonight. She could have lost his companionship and trust, his quiet moments at the Dejarik table with a cup of caf or the searing moments where he fucks her against the bulkhead of her ship. Nothing - no information, no intel, no mission - is worth the loss of this. Of _him_.

Hera raises her face to his, her half-lidded eyes lock onto his desire-darkened turquoise. The sweetness simmering in her stomach is threatening to spill over with just another thrust, and apparently, Kanan can’t be too far behind her - his quick, aggressive rhythm is faltering, and she tightens her legs around his waist, encouraging him to succumb to his orgasm. 

And he does, spilling inside of her with a cry that she muffles with her mouth against his. One of Hera’s hands tightens at the nape of his neck, the other sweeping across the angles of his face, cupping his cheek in her palm to deepen the kiss. His thrusts become gentler, more like the Kanan she knows in her bunk as he continues to fuck her to her peak, which she reaches with a deep shudder through her body. Her mouth stills on his, and Kanan presses his forehead to hers again, allowing her to savor the current of her climax rolling through her body. 

There’s silence in the hold, save for the hum of the _Ghost_ ’s engines spiriting them to safety and their heavy breathing, their bodies still pressed tightly against one another. Hera has come to enjoy the sounds of the twin heartbeats of her ship and her lover. 

“I’m going to set you down now,” Kanan announces after a long moment, his voice still gravelly. “Can you stand?” 

Hera nods mutely, and untwines her legs from around his midsection. Kanan gently frees himself from her, and steadies her on her feet, and Hera is instantly grateful for the cool wall behind her to lean on as the blood flow returns to her legs. She slides down the wall, and pulls his hands to sit down with her. As he always does, and seemingly always will, Kanan follows her without a fight.

“Are you still mad at me?” Hera asks, when she finally trusts her voice. Kanan arranges himself against the wall, and stretches his long legs out, situating Hera between them. She leans back against his chest, trying to avoid the purpling bruise on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her torso. 

“No,” he says after a moment. “You?”

“I’m not,” she admits softly, “I have to be better at sharing the weight of these missions if you’re going to be willing enough to participate in them.”   
  
“Mm,” Kanan agrees, “I just want us to always make it back together. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to make that happen.” 

Hera closes her eyes and focuses her energy on matching her breathing to his. He’s given up and risked so much for her. He’s willingly followed her into a mission for a cause he has no desire in being a part of. And yet he’ll do anything to make it back together. He demonstrated that tonight, and Hera is sure it won’t be the last time.

Kanan dips his head and presses a few soft, gentle kisses at the top of her lek. “We work as a pair now, Spectre Two.” 

Hera very much likes the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably should have been a stand alone story, but the prompt and idea was born of a Kinktober fill-list on tumblr and a conversation/request from SpecSeven, so what the hell, here it is.
> 
> Apologies for the delay in updating, but the length on this one should explain a lot, I guess. (Nevermind everything going on in my personal life!) This story has been sitting in drafts in my Google Drive for months, and while I'm still not 100% in love with how this one turned out, I think the heart of this story is an important area to explore in Hera and Kanan's relationship. Hera's been operating on her own for awhile before meeting Kanan and is so used to doing things HER way, and Kanan, whether he likes it or not, was trained by the Jedi to always be a protector. Striking a balance between those two big ideas couldn't have been easy, and it's definitely something I think they would have struggled with before taking on the rest of the crew and falling into their dynamic relationship on missions and as people in a war torn galaxy. At the end of the day, they care so deeply for one another that they make it work, but they both definitely have strong personalities and a lot of habits they'd have to break to adapt to and embrace to one another's experiences.
> 
> I like it a lot better than I did months ago, and I think that's all that matters with this story. It was my first jab at writing anything remotely "action-y", so I hope that bit worked okay, and any choppiness on this one I definitely own, as there were a lot of ideas I was trying to put together all at once.


End file.
